Nature of Ash, The

by Hager, Mandy

  She thinks the banking system could collapse? Holy shit.

  ‘There’s one more thing,’ Lucinda says. ‘Your father left a letter in my care, to give to you in case circumstances such as this should arise …’ She draws an envelope from the file and hands it to me. ‘Read it first, and then we’ll talk some more.’ She stands and walks to the door. ‘I’ll just be in the next room. I think it’s best to leave you to digest this on your own.’

  To Ashley, in the event of my death … I stare down at Dad’s messy handwriting, torn between the desire to hear from him and fear of what he’ll say.

  CHAPTER NINE

  MY DEAREST ASHLEY.

  Dad only calls me Ashley when I do something wrong. Or when he’s really chuffed, like when I told him I’d been accepted on my course. If you’re reading this I guess my time is up. I’m so sorry, mate. The last thing I want is to leave you to cope with Mikey on your own. But I know you’ll never desert him — you’re one hell of a kid and I love you very much. You’ve made me so proud. I couldn’t have asked for a better son — or friend.

  Lucinda will help you deal with the insurance company and the rest of the official stuff. I trust her, and you can too. I’m sorry there’s not more money in the coffers — I took out all the cover I could afford. Just remember you still have to live your own life, so if that means paying someone to care for Mikey so you can finish your course, then do it. That’s what the money’s for. Education is the key to everything.

  That’s so totally Dad. It’s like he’s standing next to me. Except that what he suggests is probably impossible now.

  There’s something important you need to know. It’s going to be a shock, son — all I can hope is that you’ll forgive me for not telling you, but the time never seemed right. Your mother didn’t die, Ash, she simply up and left us.

  So it’s really true … She’d been depressed and started acting really strange. I tried to get her help but she refused it, said there was nothing wrong. She never accepted Mikey had Downs. She was a bloody mess. When she disappeared at first I thought she’d gone off with someone else. She’d been hanging around with an old uni friend who was a member of Muru. It seems she was mixed up in a campaign with them before she left.

  There it is again. Muru. One of the most dangerous groups in the whole country. If it wasn’t for the fact they’ve never protested against the unions, they’d probably be on the list of bombing suspects, right alongside the UPR.

  But after a few weeks with no contact we all began to suspect she must have taken her life. She’d packed nothing and never touched her bank accounts. So after seven years the court declared her dead. Shit, Ash, I know that seems harsh but I needed the closure — I couldn’t keep on searching … hoping. The grief was eating me up.

  Then, five years ago, I started receiving anonymous calls — no words, just breathing down the phone every night around 10 p.m. I thought it was some anti-union nut-case — you know the sort. After about four weeks they stopped, but then George spotted a notice in the personal column — a birthday message — and he got it in his head that it was meant for me. Only you guys know how much those columns make me laugh. There was a reference to a shop up in the wop-wops behind Whanganui, but when Lucinda tried to trace it further she drew a blank.

  Could it just be coincidence? Same initials and date of birth? Nah, like me, it’s clear Dad thought they came from Mum. The bitch.

  Every year there’s been another message — always on my birthday — and then, last year, someone sent a photo to my phone. It was a picture of Grace, older and pretty damn weatherbeaten, but clearly her. If I’m truthful, Ash, I didn’t want to see her. The pain your mother caused us all when she ran off burnt any love I had for her out of my heart.

  But you need to know she’s out there, just in case she starts this stupid game with you. I’m really sorry I kept it from you. Either way I figured you’d be hurt. Don’t feel you have to hate her on my account. But be very careful, matey. She’s not the person we once knew.

  No worries about torn loyalties, Dad. I hate her on my own account. It’s possible that when you go through my papers you’ll find the latest threats that came my way. I’ve been targeted for years, mate, as you well know, but there’s something about this latest batch that’s given me the jitters — hence the insurance and this note. I hope like hell you never have to read this.

  Anyway, I haven’t told the police — they’ve never been too worried. If you do find the letters, please keep them to yourself. Lucinda will explain. I’ve known my luck was running out for a long time now: the powers-that-be have had enough — I’m too vocal in my opposition — free speech is only tolerated when it suits those in charge. Be careful. Things are in a state of flux and those at the top will do whatever they can to hold on to their power.

  One last thing: I’m sorry that you’re landed with Mikey. He’s one hell of an inheritance. I hope you’ll find, like I have, that he adds value to your life. You’ll never have a more loyal friend.

  The words rebound inside my head. I’ve heard them before, sometime in the last few days. Of course! The old doctor at the morgue said much the same. Not that I don’t know it already … but sometimes you want a best friend who isn’t likely to shit his pants because he’s so engrossed in trapping flies to feed his frog. Oh fuck. I’ll have to sort the frog as well.

  I need you to keep up the fight for Mikey’s rights, Ash — people hate difference and he’s too trusting — keep him in your sights. I know you’ve already sacrificed a lot for him — I hated how those little shits at school put you through hell.

  So much for my attempts at being staunch.

  You’re an outstanding human being — never forget it. And I’ll always be with you, mate. I’m as much a part of you as you’re the best of me. You’ve done really well coping with the hurdles up till now. I have the utmost faith you’ll cope with this as well. As a wise old Chinese man, Lao Tzu, once said: From caring comes courage. Kia kaha, Ash. Stay safe. Stay strong. I love you.

  I stare at Dad’s parting words, etching them onto my brain. Every part of me aches, my throat stinging from the effort not to cry. I can’t believe this is the last advice I’ll ever get from him. Can’t believe he thought I’d cope — or that he knew the risks and carried on. He’s gone. Nothing will ever be the same.

  There’s a hesitant tap on the door and Lucinda pops her head around the corner. ‘Are you all right?’

  I nod, not trusting myself to speak as she comes in. She drops a hand on to my shoulder and squeezes it for a good half minute before she sits back down.

  ‘Is there anything you’d like me to clarify?’

  ‘Probably.’ Pull your thoughts together. Concentrate. ‘So you couldn’t find my mother?’

  ‘He told you, huh? No, I couldn’t find her, though I’m sure there’s someone in Maungaroa who must know where she is. They simply closed ranks. Refused to speak to anyone.’ She picks up Dad’s file. ‘Do you want me to follow it up again?’

  ‘I don’t want to find her,’ I say. ‘She’s dead as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘Fair enough. Shaun felt the same.’ Lucinda puts her glasses on, back in professional mode. ‘Do you want me to negotiate with the undertaker — to reassure him that his costs will be covered by the insurance?’

  ‘Jeezus, I’ve just cancelled the funeral! We’re supposed to be going north tonight, to get the hell out of town. What will happen to Dad’s body now? I don’t suppose they’d cremate him straight away, before we leave?’

  She does such a classic double-take I don’t know whether to laugh or die of shame. Shame wins. ‘I can but ask.’

  ‘It’s just I don’t know when we’ll be able to come back — you know, what with everything that’s going on …’

  Lucinda nods. ‘I’ll call him now, if that would help.’

  ‘Yes please.’

  I listen as she negotiates with Bodrum and soon it’s clear that he’ll do anything so long as
he gets paid. He books us in at twelve to say our last goodbyes: a quick dispatch before he lights the match. Ta-dah! It’s all so fucking sick.

  Now I’m the one doing the double-take as Lucinda takes out a business card and writes her private numbers on the back. I stand up to take it from her, and she wraps me in an awkward hug. I swear she smells of strawberry ice-cream. If I had Mikey’s cheek I’d lick her neck, the smell is so intense. When she pulls back she’s watery-eyed.

  ‘You can ring me any time,’ she says. ‘Day or night.’ Her voice is wobbly. ‘I loved your dad. I think he loved me too … but we never got around to acting on it. I don’t know why. I wish to god we had.’

  Me too. But there you have it. Dad was just as crap at getting past first base as me. What a waste. She’s got to be a good ten years younger than him — he must have been deaf, dumb and blind not to even try to get her in the sack. I would, if I had the balls.

  ‘Would you like to join us to say goodbye then?’ If what she says is true, it’s only fair. Won’t hurt that she’ll distract Mikey either.

  ‘Thanks,’ she says at last. ‘I think I will, if that’s all right with you.’

  We organise to meet at twelve, then I flee. The longer I spend in her company, the more likely I’ll convince her I’m a total dick.

  There’s a real sense of nervous tension on the streets, people bustling past with eyes averted, faces taut. I try to cut through the back of Parliament but I’m barred by a cordon of heavily armed soldiers on full alert. The whole place is swarming with them. And the shattered shell of the railway station is already being ripped apart by bulldozers, the stink of smoke and destruction still tainting the air.

  When I reach the foyer of our apartment block I’m forced to stand aside and wait as a whole stream of tenants manhandle their belongings down the stairs. Everyone is leaving. Even old Mr Ferris shuffles down, his jaw trembling so much he can hardly speak.

  ‘My daughter insists I go to her in Nelson.’ He reaches out his stiff Parkinson’s paw and clasps my hand so hard that mine ends up shaking too. ‘God bless you, son. Your father was one of a kind. Your loss is ours as well.’

  I carry his bag down to the taxi stand, impressed he has the dosh to pay, and wonder if I’ll ever see him again. When we were young he used to give us sweets if we dropped in (surprise, surprise, we went most days). Later, I could rely on him to help distract Mikey if he threw a spaz. I’ll miss the old guy, simple as that. My eyes mist up.

  Back home, Jiao is already helping Mikey pack. She tells me Jeannie called to say we should be ready at five so she can drive us to the train station at Porirua, twenty minutes north of town. I can only assume she’s confirmed the trains are still running — and still safe. Me, I’m not so sure about the ‘safe’ part. But it’s increasingly clear nowhere is safe and, given we have no car or money, our only options are to stay or take the risk.

  ‘I asked her if I could go with you,’ Jiao says. ‘She said that’s fine.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Look, if you don’t want me to come …’

  ‘It’s fine. I’m sure that Mikey will be thrilled.’

  Her lips press into a thin line as she walks away. I don’t have the energy for this. Dad’s letter weighs heavy in my pocket. I walk through to his office and tuck it in the bottom of his filing cabinet, feeling a pang of loss as I close the drawer. I’d take it with me, but I’m scared it will get lost. This, and his saved message on my phone, are all I have to preserve his voice.

  I cram the few clothes I brought up from Christchurch back into my bag, then chuck in some of our old camping gear, just in case: billy, cups, cutlery and bowls, loo paper, matches, torch and batteries, plus our first-aid kit. My sleeping bag’s still down south, so I borrow Dad’s and hunt out Mikey’s too. Next I fill Dad’s old tramping pack with our fresh food, some bottled water and as many of our dried stores as will fit. At least we’ll have something to help out Jeannie’s mum.

  I sneak the frog’s terrarium out while Mikey’s distracted, and run it and what’s left of our cake supply up the road to Gretel, who oversees the community garden. At least that’s one thing sorted right. When I return, I phone uni (after some serious psyching myself up) to tell them what’s been going on. It’s a nightmare tracking down the right person — the people in the call centre seem to think I’m asking for an audience with God. In the end I get put through to voicemail and leave a garbled message, promising to phone again next week. Then I have to go through the whole bloody performance again to beg off my part-time job. The prick says he won’t hold it open for me and that I’ll need to reapply when I get back. That’s all I bloody need. Jobs are scarce as girlfriends.

  Yet it’s a relief to do these concrete jobs — helps quell the chaotic churning inside. Mikey’s caught up in the excitement of the trip, his only meltdown when he realises I’ve ditched the cakes (thank god he hasn’t noticed Winston Churchill’s gone as well). It could be worse … hell, it will be worse, the moment we see Dad again before they light the match. But there’s no way to avoid it.

  The cremation’s scheduled for twelve, and it’s a decent ride to get there — the buses are running again, thank god. We reach the Karori cemetery at twenty to. The clouds lie low on the hills, diffusing light. All the colour’s washed out of the world, leaving only ghostly greys and muted, sombre greens. Jiao and Mikey insist we take flowers for Dad’s coffin, so start to plunder every half-arsed flowering shrub in sight. By the time we circle around and head back to the chapel, they’ve filled their arms with a rainbow of straggly rhododendrons, more leaf than flower. What’s the point? Nothing can make this day any less dismal than it already is.

  Lucinda is waiting in front of the small chapel. She’s changed her clothes: the leather skirt and high heels gone, replaced with straight-laced black on black. Still, she looks pretty damn spunky for her age — and I’m not the only one who thinks so … Big surprise! As soon as he’s clapped eyes on her, Mikey charges over and smothers her in one of his full-on hugs.

  ‘Jeezus, boy, get off!’ I try to pull him away, but the little bastard slams his heel into my shin.

  Lucinda laughs and gently peels him off. ‘It’s okay. We’ve met before. Good to see you, Mikey.’ She gives the little shit a kiss on his deluded head. Bugger me. If I threw myself at women like he does I’d be accused of sleaze-balling — or, worse, attempted rape.

  The chapel’s brick facade is shrouded in ivy, and the whole building seems to be sprouting from the earth. It’s beautiful, the kind of place Dad would love. Yet the moment I walk inside I gag — I don’t know why. And when I see the coffin up the front it’s like pins have been pulled from my knees. I start to crumple, saved only by a frantic lurch towards the wooden pews. Fractured light streams in through the stained-glass windows, painting the dull cardboard of Dad’s coffin with a kaleidoscope of vibrant reds, yellows and blues. Mikey runs towards it, petals dropping in his wake. He tries to lift the sealed lid, rocking the whole coffin when it resists his will.

  ‘Show me Dad.’ He juts out his lower jaw, implacable in his rage.

  I make a lunge for him, trying to reach him before the whole thing topples over — I swear to god I’ll thump him if it does. Why, oh why, is everything a fight? Just for once I wish he’d bloody acquiesce.

  ‘Come on, mate,’ I say, holding him in a brutal embrace, locking down his arms. I try to control my voice so he won’t shriek back. ‘We have to leave Dad be. He’s all tucked up in there, real cosy. He wouldn’t want to be disturbed.’

  He squirms like a shitty toddler. ‘Want him now.’

  Jiao steps up beside him and cups her hand under his chin. ‘Ashley’s right, Mikey. Your dad is resting now. You know how much he hates it when you wake him up.’

  Mikey droops. ‘You sure?’

  ‘Come on,’ she says. ‘Let’s make the flowers look pretty for him. He’ll be so pleased.’

  I keep my mouth shut as I release him. Her bullshit’s workin
g, but I’m pissed off with what she’s said. If I let Mikey think Dad’s just sleeping and could still wake, I bet the whole two hundred and fifty thou those words will come back to bite me.

  When they’ve finished faffing with the flowers, we all stand around like zombies, unsure what to do. Bodrum’s nowhere to be seen, which means I have no idea of timing or process — though it’s a relief he won’t be listening to our last farewell. I don’t know why he gets under my skin so much — I think it’s that he’s making thousands from Dad’s death. It just seems wrong.

  Outside, a tui starts to sing, its strange mix of chirps, clicks and full-throated opera filling the otherwise silent chapel. It’s so totally apt: Dad was nuts about these birds. He made a fuss every time he heard one. Once upon a time, he’d say, they were so common that his neighbours bitched about their noise. These days it’s a rare treat to see or hear one at all.

  Next thing I know, Mikey’s voice is lifting in a boy-bird duet. He copies every sound so well it’s like the tui’s flown inside to join us at Dad’s side. His puff-ball eyes are closed as he strains to reach the notes, his voice strong and clear. Thank god I’m not the only one this is affecting: Lucinda and Jiao are blubbing too.

  Jiao gropes inside her bag and unearths her copy of the de la Mare. The hairs rise on my neck. She leafs through the pages, searching, then offers the book to Lucinda. ‘For you,’ she says. ‘To read.’

  Lucinda sniffs against her shoulder, scans the text, then begins reading. Mikey and the tui sing on.

  ‘Where is my love—’ Already she’s struggling to say the words. It’s hard to watch. ‘In silence and shadow he lies, Under the April-grey calm waste of the skies; And a bird above, In darkness tender and clear, Keeps saying over and over, Love lies here.’ Her voice cracks and she shoves the book back into Jiao’s hand.

  Jiao takes over, and for the first time I can really hear the lilt of her native tongue behind her Kiwi twang. ‘Not that he’s dead; Only his soul has flown Out of its last pure earthly mansion; And cries instead In the darkness, tender and clear, Like the voice of a bird in the leaves, Love — Love lies here.’